Le Duo
by civilwarrose
Summary: Two young men enlist in war. Gaston and Lefou deal with the horrors of battle in very different ways. Backstory on their friendship, during the war and a few years after the war. Warning for violent scenes in chapter 1.
1. Chapter 1

" **Le Duo"**

 **Beauty and the Beast**

 **Disney owns 'Beauty and the Beast' and its characters.**

…

The reality of war had reached the sleepy little town. Village elders lined the rough wooden table in the town hall with scrolls of paper and ink wells; each one carefully logging the name and birth date of each recruit. The war with England and Prussia had been raging for six years. Residents of the quaint and idyllic village- few of whom could even read a newspaper- had until now remained ignorant of it.

Now there had been threats of invaders- brutal armies who threatened to storm their beautiful village and slaughter the innocents.

" _They will run off with your children!_ _Come after them at night!_ " the mayor, Monsieur Germond, had proclaimed that morning. There was no turning back; the town would have to offer up its young men for battle.

Gaston was seventeen, soon to turn eighteen. He stood in the recruiting line with a smirk on his face, clad in his best red jacket with gold waistcoat. "This is it! This is the year we will become heroes, Lefou!"

"Yeah, Gaston! Heroes, you and me!" Lefou replied in the most confident voice he could muster.

"But mostly _me_!" Gaston added.

Lefou's eyes lit up with pride at Gaston's courageous attitude; he tried to mirror his eager smile. He was nervous, but he couldn't let _Gaston_ know that. As long as Gaston was with him, he could do this. He would be brave.

"Of course," Lefou said with an uneasy laugh; fiddling with his bow tie. It was black, not the dark pink or red he favored. The somber and uneasy news of today required it. The two boys finally had to part company. Gaston was next in line.

"Young Gaston, the hunter! Now, I don't need you to tell me your name, as we all know it!" the recruiting elder at the table greeted him.

"Ah, but I will give it to you, anyway. Gaston Luc de Soleil."

"Son, your surname is 'Legume,'" the man replied.

"From now on I go by my mother's maiden name- 'de Soleil.' And I hope you know the right way to spell it!" the teenager added, a bit of impatience in his voice. He watched carefully as the man wrote his preferred name clearly with his quill pen. He couldn't read or spell much himself, but he knew when his name was misspelled. He did _not_ want it to be incorrect, by chance he gave his life for France and it would be permanently inscribed on a granite obelisk.

"'de Soleil' is spelled with a lowercase 'D,'" Gaston told the recruiter, leaning over the table. "But hold on...make it capital instead. I never liked that." The man nodded, and scratched his quill. Gaston slowly spelled out the rest of his surname.

"I believe...that it ends in a 'Y', not an 'L,'" Lefou piped up from behind him. Gaston whirled around and gave his friend a scowl.

"Have you ever had to spell my name out before?" he sneered at him.

"Uh, I suppose not. It's too complicated," said Lefou. Gaston turned back to the recruiter.

"Your date of birth?" the man continued.

"September 13, 1744." The man wrote down this information, then he glanced up at the boy with an apologetic look. "Next of kin?"

Gaston scowled. "None."

The man left that part of the form blank. "Merci, Gaston. Next!" he called.

Lefou approached the recruiting table. "Name?" he was asked.

"Étienne-Jacques Lefou. Don't forget the hyphen. You know, the line thing."

"Date of birth?"

"April 1, 1745."

The elder gave the boy a slightly condescending smile. "April Fool's Day."

Lefou smiled nervously. "Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "My great-great Grand-Pere was a great Jester for the King's Court, so Maman was proud to have her own 'royal Fool' born on-"

"Next of kin?" the man interrupted in a curt tone.

"Uh...Jacques Lefou, my father." A feeling of sick dread hit him in the stomach. He knew why the man wanted Papa's name.

"Thank you, son. _Next_!"

Lefou put a hand over his mouth to quell the nausea as he searched the crowd of young men for that familiar red coat. As soon as he saw Gaston, he rushed to his side and put a hand on the taller boy's shoulder.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Lefou said nonchalantly.

"But we haven't _done_ anything yet!" Gaston exclaimed with a cocked eyebrow. "You're not _scared_ , are you?"

Lefou's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Oh, no! Not scared at all!" he said, his still-boyish face breaking into a silly smile.

...

 _"Fire!"_

Gaston obeyed; he fired. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he watched the soldier he'd chosen- by virtue of unfortunate eye contact- take his bullet to the face.

One second, this other boy had a face, and the next; he had none. What remained was a scarlet mess that reminded Gaston of the innards of a butchered deer.

 _One down, and more to go._

His feet propelled him forward to a faster march; his comrades of France alongside him in lockstep. He rushed faster, a near-run, always certain to be a few steps in front of the rest. He cocked his musket with a snap, and with eager hunter's eyes he saw yet another with his back to him, retreating. _Coward!_

He shot from behind. It penetrated the mid-neck, the upper spinal column. Perfect. The enemy dropped like a sack of boulders to the ground. He reloaded for a third shot, noticing that many of his comrades were down. Their moans of pain found his ears, urging him further as he continued to engage.

Two more down by his hand within the next thirty seconds. That made five so far, and all were clean kills. He saw one of them aiming in his direction, and he immediately ducked. A high pitched whistle sounded as the pellet went above his head and hit some poor fellow behind him. He heard him scream and fall with a thump.

He kept marching forward. Another was engaging him; foolishly rushing to him with a bayonet. Gaston swerved and ducked. He grasped his musket with both hands and thrust it upward so the bayonet was knocked out of the soldier's hands.

With a growl, he used the butt of his gun to hit him in the stomach and knock him to the ground.

 _"Bonjour!_ " Gaston roared, high on adrenaline and thirsty for victory. He pressed the end of the musket between this fellow's wide blue eyes and fired. The eyes went blank, the forehead paled beneath a fresh spray of blood. _"Au Revoir!"_ he added quietly.

He had no time to add this one to his count; he was approached yet again by two more enemies aiming in his direction. A burst of fear came to him for a split second, followed by the wheels in his head turning out a strategy. He yelled out and collapsed to the ground, falling on his face and playing dead. He heard boots approach him as he lay there, giving his temple a swift painful kick, then walking away. A gunshot sounded, and the unfortunate wearer of those boots was taken down.

 _"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! It is a victory_!" the General shouted from a distance. Today, at least, was a success. The enemy soldiers were in retreat.

Gaston stood up after a long while, his entire face smeared with blood- not his own- that had been pooled in the grass. It was time for the medics to tend to the injured. He wiped his face with his handkerchief and scanned over the faces of those who remained standing. Approximately half of the regiment who had marched- fresh and healthy- only a half hour before were still up and about. The entire engagement had lasted a pathetic twenty-five minutes, before the enemy surrendered and the General declared a cease-fire.

"Captain, oversee the injured! Find the medic!" General Poulain barked out to Captain de Soleil. Gaston saluted, and scanned the troops for his oldest friend.

Lefou had taken the job as medic in the regiment. It suited the boy; he had a caring way about him and a surprising talent for making elixirs and medicines. He was a brewer's apprentice before the war, so mixing medicines was a skill he'd quickly learned, along with the cleaning of wounds and a knowledge of hygiene.

"Lefou!" Gaston shouted out to the assembly of stumbling, weary men still up and walking around. He glanced to the left, then the right.

Gaston finally spotted one man walking who was stouter and shorter than the rest. He rushed towards him from behind. When the man turned around, Gaston saw it was an unfamiliar auburn-haired boy with freckles and frightened green eyes. It wasn't him.

"Lefou!" Gaston hollered as his eyes scanned the dying and the dead, writhing in the blood soaked field. _Damn it!_

Gaston stomped around frantically, ignoring the horror of what he was seeing. Finally, he spotted a soldier lying face down- a short man with a rounded build. Gaston recognized the coffee-colored mop of long hair strewn in the grass, one stray curl blowing in the breeze but the rest of his form...still.

" _Lefou_!" Gaston yelled in panic, dropping to his knees. _No. You can't take him from me, too!_ he thought in a prayer directed to a God who he felt did not exist anymore.

A pale hand slowly raised in greeting. Relief washed over the face of Captain Gaston de Soleil.

He pulled on Lefou's beige overcoat frantically, not knowing where his injury was. Blood was everywhere, but it was the blood of many men- all mixed together. Once Gaston lifted the coat, he saw that a bullet had grazed Lefou's left side. His white shirt was soaked with blood.

"Auughh..." Lefou stirred to life, a muffled moan of pain leaving his throat as Gaston turned him over on his back. "Gaston...you saved me again-"

"I...didn't _save_ you. And I _don't_ know what to do for you! Is there another medic around I can fetch?"

"Take the flask from my pocket," Lefou whispered, his eyes scrunched in pain. Gaston reached into his pocket and found the flask of ' _Brillance de la lune_ ,' a beverage that Lefou had brewed himself from distilled corn. "Pour it on my side."

"This is a _drink,_ you dolt!"

"It'll help with infection, Gaston...It's gonna hurt and I'm gonna scream, but do it anyway!"

"Fine," Gaston growled. He uncorked the flask, tugged the bloody shirt up and dumped the contents on what was apparently a bullet graze. Lefou's fondness for cinnamon rolls and cheese croissants and rich cuts of meat had, basically, saved his life. If he had been leaner it would have penetrated a kidney.

His injured friend gave a high-pitched scream. Gaston took off his thick leather glove and shoved it in his mouth.

"Bite down on it!," he ordered. Lefou obeyed, biting on the glove which muffled his screams of pain as Gaston poured most of the corn liquor on his wound.

"Don't use it all up, Gaston!" Lefou said suddenly. He pulled the glove out of his mouth, a grimace on his young face. "It's valuable!"

"Fine! I won't!" He stopped pouring and corked the bottle, stuffing it back in the coat. "You seem all right _now,_ " Gaston said with a satisfied smile, overly proud of his ability to do something that was usually Lefou's talent, not his.

Lefou smiled. "It's only a flesh wound."

"Of course. Étienne-Jacques Lefou, the man of iron. Indestructible," Gaston proclaimed. "Who better to have at my side?"

"Nobody better!" Lefou started to laugh weakly. "But again, no one's better than _you_!"

"True, my friend." Gaston said with a smirk. He grasped Lefou's hand, squeezed it, but quickly let it go. Lefou was looking up at him 'that way' again, that dewy-eyed adoration similar to the looks Gaston received from all the girls back home. He gazed up at Gaston as if he had hung the stars- as if he were a god himself.

 _And why not? I deserve it!_

Gaston gave Lefou a nod of assurance. All was right in the world, for now.

"So...do you have the roll of bandages on you? You're the medic, Lefou! You've been _ordered_ to have it on hand," Gaston said.

"Yeah. Check my right pocket. There's a first aid kit."

And so there was. Gaston took it and set to work, unrolling and taping bandages on his friend's side. All around them, the newly dead were being carted off to a ravine down the river. Gaston saw Lefou craning his head to look around at the dead soldiers.

"Oh...no... _no!_ Gaston, have you seen Denis? Is he alive? Or Jean-Baptiste? Where _are_ they?"

Gaston moved his body so that Lefou could see nothing but his own form leaning over him. "Do _not_ look around!" he commanded sharply.

"But-"

Gaston put his face down as close to Lefou's as he possibly could, locking eyes with him. He touched his cheek in a gesture of assurance. "Look at me, Lefou. Don't look anywhere else! Just look at _me_."

"Okay. B-but what about-"

Gaston touched Lefou's lips with his finger. "Shhh...only me."

Lefou nodded; his eyes began to calm as he focused on his friend. "Okay."

As Gaston carried his friend on a stretcher he noticed- again- that Lefou was trying to look at the dead men on the ground. He tried to shield his vision from the sight of a particularly mangled soldier by leaning over his face and blocking him again, but he was a second too late. Lefou gasped in horror.

"Who was that? Gaston-"

 _"_ Keep your eyes on me, or else _close_ them!" Gaston shouted. The wounded boy immediately fixed his eyes upon his Captain and quieted.

"We're both alive, and we have each other, Lefou. That's all you have to care about now."

"Okay, Gaston. 'Le Duo,' right?"

...

In a makeshift infirmary tent, Gaston stayed by Lefou's side as his shallow bullet graze was cleaned again and bandaged. The smaller man screamed as more of his own alcohol sterilizer was poured on it. Gaston found himself holding Lefou's hand, allowing him to squeeze it so hard that his fingernails dug into Gaston's palm, drawing blood. Lefou's eyes remained locked on Gaston's face during the ordeal.

Later, Gaston had to head back to his base, leaving Lefou behind. "Good night, Lefou. Now you just rest up."

"What will you be up to tonight?" he asked in an exhausted voice.

"Sleep, probably," Gaston replied, with a smirk on his face. "At least after I check the rounds and make certain everyone is accounted for."

"You know, you shouldn't associate with the widows outside camp, Gaston. They're hurting enough. They'll fall for you and you'll just abandon-"

"Is that your business?" His tone was threatening.

"No, but-"

"Then it isn't. What I do to relax and keep my sanity in this hellhole is what _I like_ to do. Just like _you_ like to play darts and horseshoes, and brew your...medicines out of corn. So just close your eyes and go to sleep."

"I don't think I can, Gaston! Every time I close my eyes, I see that man with no leg, and all that blood everywhere, and I haven't heard from my other friend Denis, can you please just check if he's here? I-"

Gaston's fists were starting to clench in impatience as Lefou babbled on about his other friend, with whom he often ate meals and played cards. This Denis fellow was starting to be a bad influence. Lefou was spending _way_ too much time with him. Gaston saw them sitting close together once, and the other man was reading a _book_ to him. Teaching him strange _ideas_ , for certain. The audacity!

"I will check on him IF you promise to go to sleep. I'm checking _right now_." He fixed his face into a softer, more caring expression and caressed Lefou's forehead. "I am going to inquire on it right now. Watch."

Gaston left him and walked along the cots to find the head medic, Lieutenant Delacroix. They saluted each other.

"What is the count? Gaston asked.

"We are down thirty-two men, Captain. Fifteen D.O.A., and seventeen wounded. All wounded are here," reported Delacroix.

"Question, Lieutenant. Where is Private Cloutier?"

"Cloutier has a bullet in the thigh, but he will survive. He is over there," the man replied. Gaston frowned, and walked over to check on Private Denis Cloutier.

"Ah, bonjour, Private. I wanted to send you greetings from Étienne. He's down on the other end of the tent with a flesh wound," Gaston said to the pale-complexioned young man with a bandaged-up leg. He flashed him a reassuring smile.

Denis's face lit up with relief. "Thank God! Captain de Soleil, can you give him this?" He took a piece of jewelry out of the pages of his nearby book and handed it to Gaston. It was a necklace with a tiny, green peridot stone.

Gaston cocked one eyebrow. "What kind of a gift is _this_ for a man?"

"It was my mother's. But I want Étienne to have it. It's a peridot, and it is said to protect the wearer against having nightmares. Étienne told me he has them all the time."

Gaston nodded. "That's true. But why _him_? You must have dozens of other friends and comrades who suffer nightmares as well, Private. Even I, a fearless Captain with twenty-seven kills under my belt. It's a hard fact of war."

An abashed look came over the young patient; his pale face pinkened and he searched for words. "Well, because we... _talked_ about it so much. He's the only one besides me in this regiment who...who _believes_ in it. Precious stones' powers, I mean."

"Very well, then. I will pass on your gift to Private Lefou." He gave the man a nod, pocketed the necklace and sauntered back over to where Lefou lay, a worried look on his face.

"So, is he okay?"

"Yes. Cloutier is alive...at the moment," he said. Lefou sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank God, _yes!_ Gaston, one more thing. If Denis is okay, I have something to give him. Can I-"

"Good night, Lefou." Gaston cut him off abruptly and began to walk away.

"But Gaston!"

Gaston turned around and sighed. "Private Cloutier is severely injured and it doesn't...look good for him. I don't want you to get distracted from your mission. Others are not as strong...remember, you have me. You have _us_." He pointed his finger at Lefou, then at himself. " _Le Duo_."

He watched Lefou's concerned face relax into a soft and reverent smile. "I know...yeah. _Us_."

Gaston turned again to leave, visions of drinking, revelry, and voluptuous dark beauties who spoke no French but understood the language of lust filling his mind. Though still a teenager, Gaston looked and came across as much more mature than other young men his age. Before he left the infirmary tent, he stopped again before the bed of Private Denis Cloutier. He took the peridot necklace out of his pocket and handed it back to him with a frown. He leaned toward his ear and lowered his voice.

"Private Lefou does not accept your gift. It is inappropriate. He told me so, and I completely agree." He watched the young man's face crumple with a look of sadness mixed with a bit of dread.

"I-I'll just take it back then. I just wanted to help out a friend in need," he said in a despairing voice. Gaston gave no reply; he turned on his heel and strolled outside to the welcoming chill of the evening, where the smell of blood and bodies was finally beginning to waft away. He caught sight of the General again.

"Captain! Care to go for a drink over in Strasbourg?" the General asked him.

"Sir!" Gaston saluted the man. " _Oui,_ I could use a refresher." The two recovered and mounted their horses, for a night of merriment.

Lefou tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he thought about the man with his leg severed on the field, and the visions of carnage from the other battles he'd witnessed beforehand. Now that he had experienced being shot and lived through the pain, he tried to convince himself he was not afraid to die- but he still was.

He tried to replace the images of blood, entrails, brain matter strewn in the grass, and bloody pulps where limbs once were with the handsome face of his best friend. Gaston would never leave him behind. He was a hero, and he would march off to do much more killing than Lefou cared to for the cause of France's security- but he would always come back to him.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**A Trip Away, and a Carriage Ride**

 _..._

 _A few years after the war. A few years before the movie timeline..._

Lefou awoke at nearly midday, in the cramped hotel room in Le Mans. He squinted at the harsh glare of the springtime sun. Gaston had left early to meet with his General, and he hadn't even bothered to wake Lefou up to accompany him- to which he was grateful.

He still felt sick. His stomachache from last night had turned to a hangover headache. He waited for his friend, gazing out the window at the street filled with busy people in carriages. One of the men looked a bit like Monsieur Chasseur, but it probably wasn't. He hoped to God he would never see that man again. It was the reason why he resisted the urge to leave the room and wander the street in search of a bakery to buy croissants.

Finally, at around noon, Gaston burst into the door. "Lefou! What are you doing moping around on such a fine day as this? Look, the sun is coming out!"

In a way, it had. Lefou looked up to his friend's face. The handsome and proud man was grinning from ear to ear, carrying bags of some kind. "Look what I just got! Two medals of honor that were due me from a long time ago!" He pulled two little boxes from the bag; the brass medals were securely wrapped in their cases.

"This one was from Rouen, and this one here-" he cradled the case in his hands lovingly- "is another memento from Strasbourg, when I led the second French advance. You remember that one well, Lefou. You still have the scar from it."

"Yes...I know," Lefou said.

" _Strasbourg_ ," Gaston said again, a beaming smile on his face in reminiscence. "Ahh...I still remember how I cleaned up that field. My musket and bayonet did my bidding with such ease! I can still smell the iron aroma of blood-" Gaston breathed in and out, his eyes closing for a moment. He opened them again.

"Think about it, Lefou!" he continued. "The province of Lorraine- and even our own beloved Alsace could have fallen into their hands if we hadn't fought our finest. Can you just imagine it, Lefou? A piece of our great nation cut off. We'd be speaking their language and serving their royals if not for my victories! And the widows in that town... _mon dieu!_ The best I ever had. Last night's girls were kittens compared to those fine-"

" _Ahem_ ," Lefou cleared his throat, not caring to hear about the cries of lusty lionesses. "Gaston, don't you think we ought to check out of this place before we have to pay for a second night?"

"Ah, yes. It's past noon already, I lost track of time. Thank you." Gaston nodded to Lefou, and started randomly stuffing his clothes into his travel bag. "Oh- Lefou! I didn't show you what I bought from the gunsmith's store here! Look!"

Like a proud child on Christmas morning, Gaston pulled some more items from his shopping bag- a fine new long-barrel pistol, a musket with a detachable bayonet, and a dagger in a leather shield. He showed off each new 'toy,' explaining the weapons' uses and their value. Gaston pulled the shiny dagger out of its case and playfully mimed a stab, then drew the blade closely across his own neck, without actually touching it.

"Sharpest knife I've ever owned. Perfect for our next hunt!"

"Amazing!" Lefou said excitedly, his face forming a smile of enthusiasm. "I can't wait!" When Gaston was happy, his joy was infectious.

"Let's go out to the forest as soon as we return to Villeneuve!" Gaston said, putting his new dagger back into the shield with a snap.

"Of course!" Lefou agreed. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he watched his friend packing up for their departure home. Gaston didn't notice anything 'different' about Lefou today, or late last night. The man's thick-headed cluelessness about things unrelated to himself was truly a godsend sometimes.

The previous night, Lefou had lost his innocence, at last, at the age of twenty-four. Not with one of the inn's brothel girls- but with a man. The gentleman, who had only given his name as 'Monsieur Chasseur,' had sweet-talked Lefou, buying him glasses of champagne while Gaston was occupied with paid female company. The sophisticated man had apparently guessed Lefou's nature after he politely turned down the offer of a _femme de la_ _nuit._ Lefou, tipsy and lonely, wanting to know what it felt like to be desired by another man who shared his problem, accompanied the stranger up to his room.

After the intoxicated encounter was over, the stranger proceeded to humiliate and insult him. He tossed coins at him for a 'wonderful evening.' Lefou felt ashamed and crushed, regretting the choice. After throwing up from the alcohol, he was reunited with a concerned Gaston in the bar room.

Gaston had cared for Lefou by giving him some ice water to drink and escorted him up to bed in their hotel room. There, the humiliated young man cried silently in his pillow while Gaston slept across from him, still unaware of his friend's ordeal. Lefou wouldn't dare tell him about it. He vowed never to give in to such a thing again.

...

'Le Duo,' as they still called themselves, casually walked the streets with their belongings over to the stagecoach depot. Lefou told Gaston he was famished, and so Gaston stopped to buy his best friend some cheese croissants. They soon boarded a coach headed east to Villeneuve. As they began their journey, Gaston talked and talked about his meeting with the General, and how he had praised him for his heroic deeds in battle.

"It angers me that we're at peace, Lefou. I need another war! I need adventure. I want those days back again, where I can lead my squad in victory, and vanquish men once more- rather than stags or foxes. Don't you agree?"

Lefou was gazing out the window, half listening. He was still hurting and angry over what happened to him with that stranger last night. He caught Gaston's question, and thought for a moment about whether he should just say 'Yes, Gaston!' or offer his own, differing opinion. Since Gaston was in his happy mood today, Lefou decided to go with Option Number Two.

"If it involves a musket ball tearing into my hip again- or worse- I'm not terribly eager about the idea, Gaston," he replied.

Gaston laughed, as expected. "Ah, Lefou! You're getting soft now." He scooted closer to him and threw his arm merrily around his shoulder. "War is good for men. It culls out the excess population of losers on all sides of the conflict. Just like the herd of deer in the forest. The strong bucks who survive get older and grow a handsome, fourteen-point rack of antlers. The does go crazy for them. They're the winners! The losers let themselves die, like fools. They won't get to pass on their genes. Which do you want to be?"

Gaston smiled contentedly and pulled Lefou to himself a little closer, in a fraternal half-hug. "A fine, strong buck like me, or dead in a stew?"

"I would have to go with the first option, no doubt," Lefou replied.

The warmth of Gaston's show of camaraderie caused a flush to form on Lefou's cheeks. Gaston was teasing, as always, but his words were symbolic in a way. They carried a gentle warning to them, a caution that Gaston would only verbalize in a parable of sorts. _'Be a normal man_ ,' it translated as. He would try. He'd keep in control from now on, and not show his nature 'too much.'

Gaston beamed down at him, glad he got the answer right. He pat Lefou's leg twice with his hand in a warm, yet oddly Gaston-ish, show of affection.

"Good! Now, speaking of passing on my genes, I'm still thinking of a future wife on the horizon. I'm looking forward to getting back home. Have you seen the new girl in town? She's quite a beauty, isn't she?" Gaston said, his eyes ablaze as he gazed at a point just above Lefou's head, likely picturing this girl in his mind's eye.

"I'm not sure who you're talking about, Gaston."

"I'm wondering if she might be worth my notice. She's a young, little brunette girl. Probably not even twenty yet. She had her nose in a book."

"Gaston, isn't that a little, um, presumptuous to go from 'seeing a new brunette girl in town' to thinking 'future wife'?" Lefou asked him jokingly, making little 'quote' symbols with his fingers.

"Not if you're ME," Gaston replied with a raise of his eyebrows. His right leg in the coach seat was pressed next to Lefou's left one, and it felt so firm and strong and comfortable. Lefou wished this coach ride, with only Gaston for company and no one else, would never end.

He watched Gaston take out his new dagger and play with it for a while, drawing the blade across his fingers and turning it over and over again. He knew that the habit meant that either he was angry and frustrated, _or_ he had pent-up, nervous energy. He decided that Gaston was full of nervous energy at the moment, because his mood today was purely one-hundred-percent positive. There had been not even one single 'flare-up' of anger today.

Perhaps Gaston needed to go visit brothel girls more often? Or be presented with more medals of honor?

Lefou began to wonder what Gaston would do if he found out about the stranger, M. Chasseur, and what happened between them. Would he be ashamed of him? Would he deem Lefou not worthy to be his best friend anymore? No, he couldn't. He was his closest childhood friend. Gaston was not as ignorant as he seemed to be. He must have known about his nature, but never mentioned it or brought it up. Except for those little hints of caution, such as his 'stag deer' analogy.

After all, there was the whole Private Cloutier thing that happened years before, at the war camp in Strasbourg. Gaston must have sensed something between Lefou and Denis Cloutier. Because why else would he single Cloutier out to be transferred, when other men with injuries had volunteered?

Lefou decided that Gaston knew, but didn't care, and that bringing it up would be inconvenient for both Gaston's ego and- Lefou was comforted by this notion- his own safety. Gaston wanted to protect him. That's why he transferred Cloutier. He got rid of him so that the fellow would be out of Lefou's life, before he could lead him into situations that could lead to either lynching or the madhouse for both young soldiers. Gaston may have even been jealous of any friendship Lefou had with someone who wasn't _him._ That thought always gave Lefou comforting memories, especially in times when Gaston took him for granted.

He began to fantasize about what Gaston would have done to M. Chasseur had he known what just happened. He imagined Gaston angrily punching Chasseur's face so hard he'd fall to the ground. Nothing too gruesome, like slicing the man's throat with his dagger. That was too much. Chasseur didn't deserve to die. He just deserved to be humbled and humiliated, an eye for an eye. Lefou wanted Gaston to fight for him and defend his honor, that's all.

While Lefou was lost in his thoughts for the next few hours or so, Gaston had slumped over against the coach's window, asleep. Lefou wished he knew how to read, because it would be something to distract himself. He had always seen men reading books while traveling long distances. They weren't even halfway to Villeneuve yet.

When they reached Fontainebleu, a busy station closest to Paris on the route, a few people boarded their coach to occupy the empty seat across from them; two older men and a woman. Gaston woke up, and the five of them shared small talk. Inevitably, the war that ended several years ago was brought up, Gaston talked about his medals, and the fellows thanked Gaston and Lefou for their brave service. It was pleasant.

The next stop on the route was the city of Troyes, where Gaston and Lefou stopped to walk around and wait to board the next coach at eight in the evening. They went into another inn for dinner- beef stew and baguettes and beers- and soon climbed on a second coach. Lefou thought that he and Gaston would be the only ones still traveling east, but once they were settled, a new passenger was helped on by a depot worker. A woman. A pretty, young woman.

"Bonjour!" Gaston said, giving her his best smile. She smiled at him shyly, though her eyes lit up with interest. "What's your name, mademoiselle? I'm Gaston."

"Madame Beauvais," she replied, averting her eyes.

"Give Monsieur Beauvais my greetings, then. He's a lucky fellow."

The woman looked at him with barely-masked pain. "He died."

"You're a widow, then?" Gaston said nonchalantly. Lefou noticed a twinkle beginning to form in his friend's hazel-olive eyes. A devilish twinkle. ' _Oh dear Lord,_ ' Lefou thought.

"Oui," she said sadly, keeping her gaze out the window.

Gaston didn't ask her any more questions after that. He lazily lounged next to Lefou, still playing with his new dagger every so often. Madame Beauvais pulled out some knitting from her bag and began to work on her project; a shawl or quilt.

"Who are you making that for, Madame?" Lefou asked her. He felt like talking to someone, rather than dwelling on what happened hours ago and many miles away.

"I'm making it for my daughter, Isabelle. She's four years old." The woman smiled at him; a sad smile.

"I'm sure she's a pretty little girl, Madame. I'm sorry for your loss," said Lefou.

"Merci," the woman said, smiling at him. "He took ill last year. But we're living with my Papa and Maman now, so I'm very thankful. Are the two of you heading home, or going on a trip?"

"We're heading home," interjected Gaston in his commanding voice. "We were just on a trip to Le Mans. I was given my medals of honor for my war service. You do remember the Seven Years' War, don't you? Unfortunately I only got to fight for the last year or so of it. I was too young for battle in the early years of that grand conflict. But I rose in the ranks, and made captain at the age of eighteen."

"Oh...that's honorable," the woman said, her face making it clear that she wasn't sure what to make of the handsome man.

"I have two Silver Crosses and now I have three Gold Royal Medals of Valor, commissioned by King Louis himself. I saved the principalities of Alsace and Lorraine from being conquered by the Prussians entering France via Strasbourg. And- I valiantly pushed back a band of Portuguese from our principality, who were moving in from the west."

"Just you?" Lefou quietly interjected.

"Well, all my men with me, of course!" Gaston corrected his faux-pas with a hearty laugh. "But it was my tenaciousness that crushed their armies flat. No one else could have done such a thing. I was put on this earth for battle. I am a warrior through and through."

"Thank you for your service," the woman said, not being able to help being amused and intrigued by Gaston's mere presence, despite his shameless vainglory. "I'm heading home to Epinal. Is that where you live, Monsieurs?" She asked the question of both Gaston and Lefou, now that she assumed they were traveling together.

"I'm afraid not, Madame," Gaston replied. "I live further east, in a little town called Villeneuve, just west of Colmar. The boondocks, unfortunately. Nothing but forests, farms, and good game animals. I'm a skilled hunter, you see."

"He's right about that," Lefou added. "He's considered the best hunter and marksman in Alsace."

"And what do you do?" Madame Beauvais asked Lefou, turning her friendly smile to him as her fingers worked her knitting needles.

"Lefou's my assistant with all my affairs," said Gaston, aiming his gaze away from the young widow and towards his closest friend. "He can cook a delectable egg omelet. I'd say that's his main talent. Either that or the way he sings odes to me. And he was a medic in the war. And my dearest friend."

Lefou felt color blossom in his cheeks. The compliments sounded genuine, sincere. "Thank you, Gaston."

"Thank you, Lefou. You're the best." He slapped his arm around his shoulder again, and in his loud booming voice, he addressed both him and the woman. "I don't understand why it is that no girl has claimed you as her husband yet!"

Lefou caught the young widow smiling, looking at him with approval as if she were thinking, 'I don't either.' Embarrassed but glad to have his self-esteem restored, he chuckled a little.

"I'm still young, I suppose," he said, grinning up at Gaston.

"True. And so am I," Gaston agreed. "We have plenty of time, don't we, Lefou?"

"Yes, uh, of course," he replied, nodding.

His heart warmed with relief, because it meant that even though Gaston spoke of prospective wives and girls, it never actually came to fruition. The former war captain was perfectly happy with bedding girls in brothels, as annoying as it was to Lefou. At least that was better than having Gaston's new future bride move into the Legume home with them. If _that_ ever happened, Lefou would move back into his late parents' old cottage. He kept it for that reason; cleaning and maintaining the little house, allowing boarders to live there once in a while, collecting rent. It was a lonely, empty place without his Maman and Papa there anymore.

The woman sat quietly doing her knitting, and the coach stopped at its next depot- the town of Epinal. There, Madame Beauvais stood and prepared to depart.

Lefou dug into his pocket until he found something. "Madame?"

"Yes, Monsieur?" she said.

He gave her five livres in coins. "A little something for your daughter. Maybe a bonnet to go with that shawl you're making her. You see, I know what it's like to have a parent die on you. Gaston and I both know what it's like."

"Merci!" the woman exclaimed. "I'll always remember you two. You have...quite the personalities, Monsieur Gaston, and Monsieur Lefou."

Lefou and Gaston offered to hand her luggage down to a worker, and she graciously bade them godspeed. "Say, Madame," Gaston said to her before she departed, "If I ever decide to visit Epinal, I might just...look you up." He grinned at her. She shook her head with an embarrassed little smile, and walked away.

"She'll dream about me tonight," Gaston opined as he watched her leave.

Lefou was alone with Gaston again, on the road for a good many more miles. "Don't you want to go sit in the empty seat, Lefou? There's more room there," Gaston suggested.

"No, thanks, I'm quite comfortable here. Why, is it too much...closeness to have me sitting next to you?"

Gaston quirked his eyebrow in his teasing, quizzical way. Vintage Gaston. He slowly shook his head. "Nope."

Lefou smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep as the coach rolled homeward. He was happy and content now. What he had with Gaston might not be love, but at least it was something.

Their lives would remain this way, uneventful and predictable, for the next few years. Lefou hunted with Gaston, shared his manor home, spent evenings at the tavern with him. The two never ventured very far from Villeneuve again after that.

Looking back, Lefou never could have fathomed that the 'little brunette girl' around town- the one whom Gaston had casually mentioned that day in the carriage- would cause such an unbearable frustration for his friend. He never could have imagined that _she_ would spark the beginning of his self-destruction.

...


End file.
